Archive for the ‘Hating how you look’ Category

I stopped going to the gym, wearing high heels and full-face make-up. I just didn’t have the energy to put in the effort. However, I did manage to still keep current with the latest in maternity fashion and keep up my hair (color and cut—in those days I actually got FOILS!!) waxing, pedicures, facial and dental appointments. I also continued to wear lipstick or gloss and mascara. Not a lot of effort, but some. Going “out” was rare, but on those rare occasions I did manage to pull off some full-face evenings and the occasional high heel.I don’t know when I stopped trying. I think it has been a gradual process, slowly but surely I’ve given up. It all started, I think, right around baby number 1, which for me, was seven years ago. It was also 60 pounds ago and 10 clothing sizes ago.

Then came baby number two. I still wrangled the hair (no more foils) waxing and some pedicures in the spring and summer. I went to the dentist and had an occasional facial. I downgraded my wardrobe completely and, unwilling to completely part with my “thin” clothes put them in a plastic Rubbermaid bin in the basement—where they still reside after three moves in three different states.

I made some attempts at beauty rituals, and tried my hardest to get to some kind of event at least a few times a year where lipstick and mascara were de rigueur.

Now with baby number three and a new business, the old gray mare ain’t what she used to be. I keep meaning to book a dental appointment (it’s been a year but shhh! don’t tell anyone!), truly. It’s just been tough to find the time. My basic wardrobe these days is t-shirt and jeans chic. But I don’t want to invest in anything too great in the size I wear right now because I am still in total denial that I even wear this size. Likewise I am in total denial that even at my old weight, my body will never, ever look like it did pre-pregnancy. The shar-pei like quality (as in wrinkly dog, not High School musical character) to my abdominal skin screams out “extreme make-over.” Likewise the boobs that once rivaled those of Pamela Anderson which are now nearly at my waist. If I know I won’t be leaving the house except for perhaps a drop-off or pick up, I’ll skip a shower. It gives me twenty more minutes to sleep. I have to make sacrifices like that these days. Shower or sleep? Invariably I pick sleep…unless it’s been a few days and I start to offend even myself. If I know I am going “out” or will be seen by strangers, I manage a shower and wash my hair with actual shampoo. I get out of the shower and run a comb through my hair, brush my teeth and get dressed, even including a bra. Hey, that’s the same routine my husband has had for years, minus the bra. Clearly, I have become a man. I dress like one, and have let so many beauty regiments go I might as well be man. It is absolutely easier. So there it is. Another instance where a man has it easier, and I’m just copying it. By letting go. I’m not sure if this is actually a good thing or not. As soon as possible I will go. I know those “thin” clothes are down in the basement, and I keep meaning to find a way to get back to the gym. I will absolutely get my now gorilla-esque legs (don’t even ask about the bikini line!) waxed soon. Really. I mean it. And a pedicure too—just as soon as the warmer weather gets here. I also need to do something about the new “Lily Munster” thing I’ve got going with my hair. I have a great gift certificate for a facial, which has been gathering dust on my desk. I’ll use it. I swear! It just might take a while. Like another few years. I hate that I have let myself go just so I can keep life functional. Because that’s what it is. I am operating at a just functioning level. No more than that. My hours and minutes are so closely rationed one stomach bug in the house will lead to utter chaos from which we may not truly recover. I need some kind of device, a robot or a special machine that will tend to me in my sleep without actually waking me up—I can’t spare a moment of sleep. It would be great to wake up and see my hair and nails done, skin perfect and glowing, legs smooth and shiny and a pre-pregnancy body underneath the flannel sweatpants. It’s a pipe dream, I know. The only thing I can do is spend the time making it happen, which I sorely lack. I still brush my teeth every day though. At least I’ve got that going for me.